


Welcome as the Dawn

by VenatorNoctis



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Sharing a Meal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/pseuds/VenatorNoctis
Summary: After Witchdrop, Haurchefant brings Francel back to Camp Dragonhead to recover.The plates are set before them and Francel's mouth waters with a sudden visceral sharpness that would embarrass him could anyone detect it. He's felt numb since the cold march out to Witchdrop and the fate he knew waited for him there, but Haurchefant's hospitality seems determined to thaw him out.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Francel de Haillenarte
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13
Collections: Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020





	Welcome as the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan/gifts).



The return to Camp Dragonhead passes in a blur for Francel, the reprieve he dared not hope for, after the ferocious battle the adventurer and Haurchefant waged on his behalf. Haurchefant insists that he stay the night and return to his own holdings on the morrow, after he's recuperated. He agrees to the offer, and to the suggestion of a quiet dinner in Haurchefant's private study, and the whole time a part of him is convinced that he must be imagining this in the endless instant as he falls toward his judgment on the rocks.

He doesn't truly begin to recover until their dinner is served. The plates are set before them and Francel's mouth waters with a sudden visceral sharpness that would embarrass him could anyone detect it. He's felt numb since the cold march out to Witchdrop and the fate he knew waited for him there, but Haurchefant's hospitality seems determined to thaw him out. "I am as ever impressed by your table, my lord," he murmurs. "Tis more luxury than a man might hope for anywhere else in the highlands, I'm sure."

"None of that formality, when we're such old friends." Haurchefant smiles, lifting his wine glass in a gesture that isn't quite a toast. "I do seek out more comforts than most of our compatriots out here in the wilderness," he allows. "But only because I see no reason to punish myself more than Halone does already. After all, surely She knows better than I how much privation I deserve."

"A—a bold proposition, in, in times like these," Francel stammers, but he can't exactly argue with it, can he? Who _would_ know better what a man deserves than the goddess herself? It only sounds potentially heretical because it isn't grim and unforgiving.

"Boldness serves a man well in times like these," Haurchefant replies, echoing his words deliberately, Francel is sure. He carves a bite off the thick slice of karakul haunch on his plate and pops it into his mouth, and the action reminds Francel of his own appetite.

He has heard soldiers say that no meal tastes better than the one taken in the wake of a dangerous battle. He believes it now; the meat is rich and flavorful and the sauce, some sort of currant reduction, has a tang so sweet and sharp on his tongue that he almost thinks he could weep. He's alive and everything is bright and new and beautiful.

The conversation is nearly as restorative as the meal. Haurchefant has always had that effect on him, ever since he was a child stifled by the constriction of his family name. In Haurchefant's company he can breathe again, can see possibilities ahead of him rather than only miserable certainty. Haurchefant moves nimbly from one topic to the next, relating some entertainingly minor misfortune from a patrol, discussing the promise of the next season's chocobo hatchlings, pondering the possibility of a trade route south. And yet there is one topic that seems to keep coming up, with all the delighted enthusiasm Haurchefant can muster.

"The adventurer charms you," Francel dares at last. 

"I can’t deny it." Haurchefant takes up the bottle and refills Francel's near-empty goblet. "He’s near the top of the list of things I crave and cannot have."

"But you— you’re so—you're brave, and thoughtful, and kind, and..." _and handsome, and passionate_ , he doesn't quite have the courage to add. "Surely he must see your virtue. What a—what a wonderful partner you would make."

Haurchefant smiles gently. "It’s kind of you to say so. But men like that are too driven by their calling to settle down in a single dangerous outpost when there are dozens clamoring for aid." 

He says it so calmly, but it makes Francel's heart ache for him all the same. His own unspoken admiration for his friend feels childish by comparison.

"Ah, don’t make that face," Haurchefant says. "I knew the first time I saw him that he would be that sort. And I am not so miserly as to only have room in my heart for one. I'm not condemned to pine away in a tower longing for him like the heroine of a tragedy."

"Good," Francel says before he can lose his nerve. "You shouldn't—you shouldn't be living a tragedy. You deserve better."

"Sweet Francel," Haurchefant says, and reaches out as if he'd offer Francel his hand. "You've ever sought to offer me succor when the world is harsh."

Francel takes his hand, unwilling to let the opportunity pass him by. "And you for your part have ever faced down danger to keep me safe." He takes a deep breath, meeting Haurchefant's eyes with all the courage in him. "I am not so experienced as to know how many I have room in my heart for, but whatever the number, you will always be among them."

Understanding breaks across Haurchefant's face like dawn: gentle, warming, and ever so welcome. "My dear friend," he murmurs. He hasn't let go of Francel's hand. "I never realized."

"I had thought to not trouble you with it," Francel admits, and sees Haurchefant readying a protest. "But I think, had I fallen today, in my last moments I would have regretted that decision."

"That you ever thought it would trouble me is perhaps the only thing you have done in your entire life worthy of my reproach," Haurchefant says, but there is no reproach in his tone, only a fondness that makes Francel's heart feel light.

His fumbling search for something to say in response is cut short by a brisk knock at the door, and he snatches his hand back hastily before the door can open.

It's the Camp Dragonhead steward, not a soldier running a message, and she seems composed, not alarmed—all the signals one learns to read as the captain of a frontier outpost, before a messenger even begins to speak.

The steward bows to Francel and then addresses Haurchefant: "The rose room has been prepared for our guest. Will my lord require anything else this evening? Medguistl wished me to tell you that she has a small cask of wine suitable for mulling, should you or your guest need further warmth."

"Medguistl is a treasure, and her culinary skills are surpassed only by her thoughtfulness," Haurchefant says. "Tell her that if she would be so kind as to mull some wine for the knights keeping watch on the wall, that would be much appreciated. Francel and I have found her supper admirably restorative, and we will require nothing further tonight."

"Of course, my lord," the steward says. "Nothing further from the kitchens, or...?"

“Or otherwise, thank you. I can see Francel to his room when we’re done here.”

She bows, excusing herself, and Haurchefant immediately offers his hand again. Francel's heart leaps at how easy it is to reclaim the moment, to take Haurchefant's hand and hold on. He's so warm. Francel lets his fingers explore, tracing the arc of swordsman's calluses that crown Haurchefant's palm, marveling at the freedom to do so.

Haurchefant lifts Francel's hand to his lips, pressing a gentle but lingering kiss to his knuckles. The gesture is sweet and tender but the heat of his mouth suggests so much more. "I wouldn't rush you if your hunger is not yet sated, but please tell me the very instant you wish for an escort to your room."

There is no _need_ for such an escort; Francel has stayed at Camp Dragonhead some dozen times since he was first posted to Skyfire Locks, and knows his way around possibly the whole of the outpost. But need is not what makes Haurchefant offer, nor what makes him respond. "I would be most glad to retire to that comfort with you." Is that too forward, too direct to say aloud?

No, it mustn't be, for it makes Haurchefant smile and squeeze his hand. "A feeling I share completely," he says, rising from the table. "Shall we?"

They make their way from the study up to the bedchambers on the next floor. The rose room is where Francel has always stayed when he visits Camp Dragonhead; as the name implies, it's been decorated to pay homage to the longstanding friendship between their houses. There's a bright fire in the hearth beginning to warm the room, lanterns glowing on the walls, and fresh linens on the bed, embroidered with red roses along their edges. It's comfortable, as reassuring a place as Francel has yet found in the Coerthan wilds.

Haurchefant closes the door behind them and turns toward him. "Only tell me what you would have of me, my friend."

Boldness, Francel reminds himself. He takes a step closer. They're of a height now, though in his mind Haurchefant still always seems taller. The silver fringe of his hair falls in his eyes, as always, and for once Francel reaches out to brush it back. "Kiss me," he says.

Oh, the sweet pleasure in Haurchefant's smile is every bit as warming as the mulled wine could have been. He slides an arm around Francel's waist to pull him close and press their lips together. The first kiss is chaste, slow and gentle; the second likewise. Then Francel leans into it, hungry for more, parting his lips in invitation; Haurchefant responds with all the passion could hope for, tongue slipping into his mouth, hands holding tighter. Francel's heart beats wildly in his chest and he moans, his nerves alight as though he's had a whole bottle of Medguistl's mulled wine to himself.

When Haurchefant pulls back his eyes are sparkling and his cheeks pink. "I thought you satisfied at supper, but it appears I was wrong. You still have quite the appetite."

"If you're willing to indulge me," Francel says, "I do find I'm craving dessert."

Haurchefant smiles, not merely warm but smoldering. "I would like nothing more than to indulge your every desire."

And for the rest of the evening, he does.


End file.
